Jesus took with him Peter and John and James, and went up on the mountain to pray. And while he was praying, the appearance of his face changed, and his clothes became dazzling white
The story of the Transfiguration is a Mountain Top Experience (like that of Moses in our first reading from Genesis) – of Jesus being transfigured before a few of his disciples – Peter wanting to capture the moment and wanting to build three booths – but Jesus refuses to stay put – that wonderful experience cannot be kept to themselves.
They must go down the mountain. They must get back to their reality. For their ministry lies before them, but as they head back we are told…
And they kept silent and in those days told no one any of the things they had seen.
I don’t think they knew what to say about this experience. Of seeing the glory of God.
On the next day, when they had come down from the mountain, a great crowd met him. Just then a man from the crowd shouted, "Teacher, I beg you to look at my son; he is my only child... I begged your disciples to cast it out, but they could not."
And what did the disciples do with Jesus up the mountain, nothing. They couldn’t do it.
And Jesus gets frustrated…
Jesus said, "You faithless and perverse generation, how much longer must I be with you and bear with you? Bring your son here." While he was coming, the demon dashed him to the ground in convulsions. But Jesus rebuked the unclean spirit, healed the boy, and gave him back to his father. And all were astounded at the greatness of God.
The transfiguration is about the Glory of God upon Jesus. But it is also Jesus not wanting us to only see him in that mountain top experience, in our own booths (our churches and homes) that we make for Jesus. He wants us to see the glory of God in our very lives. He gets frustrated by the disciples not sharing the experience, unable to heal a child in need. We are called as Christians to get our hands messy in the reality of our world. And if we do, we might just be transformed into whom God has called us to be…
A church organized a Tuesday morning mom-and-tots group, where the kids would play and the moms could indulge in adult conversation and sip coffee while it was still hot. The group became very close, laughing and crying, talking and praying.
One day the group took up a book on prayer. The author wrote that making quiet time for personal prayer was crucial to the spiritual life. Most of the moms said they tried to fit in such “quiet time” during nap tie or laundry time or dishwashing time or shower time, but all agreed that a set daily “quiet time” was an impossible luxury.
The book offered a solution for the quiet-time dilemma: “Get up earlier.” All moms have to do is get up and have their quiet time in the dark before everyone else is awake, because — quoting the book — “you can sleep when you’re dead.”
In other words, “a bunch of baby-brained, undernourished, zombie moms were being told that what they really needed to make their lives better was less sleep.”
One young mom spoke up: “Sleep was the one thing I knew I needed to have if I was going to be a decent mom for another day. I needed sleep, because my kids needed me to get dressed and go to the park and read the same book 400 times and kiss boo-boos and settle disputes over Legos and cut a single grape into 11 pieces and scoop turds out of the bathtub and not kill anybody, either by accident or on purpose. Sleep was life.”
How could God entrust her, she asked, with the care and protection of three kids and then expect her to get up at the crack of dawn to “be quiet with him” because “I can sleep with him when I’m dead.”
“I don’t think that’s how it works. I really don’t. I think God is with us. Like, day in and day out, in the chaos and the noise and the silliness of life, he is there . . . never absent from the clamor of our kids’ laughter, their squeals, their skinned knees, their fussing and whining and raging fits in the Target parking lot. God is not withholding himself from us, waiting for us to come to him in the wee hours of the morning as a measure of our devotion . . . !”
“So I’m gonna honor God intentionally in my sleep, because I’m pretty sure God wants me to be the very best mother I can possibly be to my boys . . . Tomorrow I’ll be sleeping in. And I’m not even gonna worry about it, because I’m pretty sure I’ll have plenty of quiet time with God when I’m DEAD!" [From The Very Worst Missionary: A Memoir or Whatever by Jamie L. Wright.]
To which I say Amen. In her call to motherhood, this woman has experienced “transfiguration”: the light of God’s presence radiates in her love and care for her children; the presence of Christ’s peace transfigures their lives into the very dwelling place of God. God is in the mess.
What Peter, James and John witness in Christ on the mountain exists within each one of us, as well: God is present within us, animating us to do good and holy things, guiding our steps as we try to walk justly and humbly in the ways of God, enlightening our vision with wisdom and selflessness to bring the justice and mercy of God into our world.
As Archbishop Desmond Tutu put it: “God places us in the world as his fellow workers – agents of transfiguration. We work with God so that injustice is transformed into justice, so that there will be more compassion and caring, that there will be more laughter and joy, that there will be more togetherness in God’s world.”
On this last Sunday before Lent, we remember how God’s glory has transformed our world. Our place is down the mountain, in our very lives, sharing that glory with one another, so that all may live by that glorious light. Amen.
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